Stirred from his slumber his eyes flicked up to the hand, the knife and he quickly assessed his situation. There was no struggle, no attempt to call for help, even his eyes were clear of fury, or fear or hate, there was just a grudging acceptance in those tired deeps. The fatigue didn't seem of the physical variety, nor bought on by the alcohol, of which his breath smelled sweet but by the clarity of his features he was far from intoxicated, perhaps as far as a young man could get. He listened in the quiet dark to the strange looking creature that sat astride him and he remained silent even as the other finished. He almost seemed bored but it seemed the young man was indeed contemplating something, the manner his lower lip was wet by the tip of his tongue, ultimately it would cause the dryness to worsen but for now his mouth felt too dry to form words. 

Sarcasm ought to be avoided and despite his lethargy in the face of this attempt he decided it was better not to tempt fate by speaking the first thing that came to mind. While it would be easy enough to throw this man -his weight barely seemed anything and he had spent time wrestling with far bigger people- there was always the chance that even if he did throw the other off of him his neck would be sliced. Of course where the blade was held was off to the side anyway so it would be unlikely he could strike deep enough for a killing blow should Alessandro decide to throw this man off of him and dispatch him himself.

Though part of him wondered what on earth the point was, this had been the sixth or seventh attempt in as many months and no matter how many times they took out the assassin they never seemed to stop. Of course such information was kept out of the public's eye, the King didn't want panic on the streets and it would be panic that was caused. Either the prince had one persistent enemy or many who were unaware of the moves of the others involved, surely it would just be more peaceful if he let this cretin do it. of course, he couldn't do that to his little sister, nor to his mother, they had grieved enough this year and Alessandro didn't want to see either grieving again where he could possibly help it. 

Which meant he had one of two options, risk the wound or beg, the latter annoyed him significantly. Begging was just such a repulsive act, one he thought all humans -not just royalty- were above the need to do. He had never begged for a thing in his life, even as a child he had not begged for a toy or a pet of any kind, he took what came his way and he dealt with the rest. 

The problem with this would-be-murderer was he was so confident he had already won, that the Prince was just a hapless little prick like any other mark he'd ever dealt with. He held the blade in such a way that sure, he could strike true to a precious vein and he'd bleed out quickly, but the awkwardness of the angle such as it was would mean anything that jostled the bed, the target or the killer himself would mean the blade would slip and it was unlikely to do much but produce a shallow wound, if it nicked his flesh at all. It was this kind of arrogance that usually caused the mild mannered Prince to lose his patience with people, it was perhaps the one good piece of information Torric had ever given him 'As long as you are drawing breath you haven't lost' likewise of course an enemy who still drew breath was a threat but that wasn't quite Alessandro's cup of tea. 

For now he was going to play it careful, as the last thing he needed was for his own confidence to be his downfall. "I do not appreciate being sat upon, it makes it hard to think." Came a growl, his voice a low baritone but not so low as his fathers, it had a rumbling quality that in most cases would seem warm but right now would seem anything but, he eyed the cretin carefully, "If you are going to ask for last words then how about you do so with a level of decency instead of like a common whore."